


Surpassing Valour

by Houseofhaleth



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Dagor Bragollach, Gen, House of Bëor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-28
Updated: 2013-10-28
Packaged: 2017-12-30 18:13:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1021827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Houseofhaleth/pseuds/Houseofhaleth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Maedhros did deeds of surpassing valour, and the Orcs fled before his face; for since his torment upon Thangorodrim his spirit burned like a white fire within, and he was as one that returns from the dead.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Surpassing Valour

The scouts were returning. That could only be bad news.

  Gorhelm steeled himself as they approached.

  ‘What’s over the bridge?’ he called, as soon as they were remotely in earshot. He didn’t hear their answer the first time, they had to shout it again.

  _‘The bridge is gone!’_

_*****_

  The group struggled to a stop by the charred posts that had supported the bridge. It had been hard going through the narrow mountain passes – would have been hard going even for the physically fit. But anyone who could still fight _was_ still fighting, for Dorthonion, in spite of sudden flame. The wounded hadn’t left willingly, either.

  _I know they won’t leave their home easily, but they have to,_ Barahir had said. _Gorhelm, you tell them they’re a drain on resources. Tell them we can’t spare men to guard them. Tell them morale will fail if they all die of their injuries up here, which they will, or that you’re going to catch up to the last group of civilians. Frankly I don’t care what you tell them, get those men to safety._

Because he loved Barahir, he had done it, allowing his leader to stay and probably die thinking at least he had saved some.

  They’d lost many on the journey. Many men who had been holding on wondered what they were holding on for.  And now the fire was ahead of them, somehow, when they’d thought they were fleeing it.

  Gorhelm took a breath. ‘Get ropes. I doubt we’ll find any better place to ford it. The posts on the other side look fairly stable.’

  Silence. Nobody moved. It was a desperate plan, but what could they do? Stay here until the orcs caught up?

*****

They’d lost one raft full of supplies, but no men. In two hours, only a pitiful straggle had made it across. At this rate – they couldn’t afford to lose any more supplies. They’d be here a while.

  ‘They won’t be able to follow us,’ Gorhelm said, loud enough for most people to hear. ‘Once we’re across, we can go at a slower pace.’

  Nobody pointed out that all the orcs would probably be able bodied, and wouldn’t need to ferry the wounded across one at a time. They could probably cross in a fraction of the time, if they were so inclined.

  ‘Riders, Sir!’ someone called. All eyes turned northeast. ‘N…no, Sir, other side of the river. I think…it’s the Eldar.’

  They were riding fast, banners and colours unreadable in the wind. They made a line for the river bank. In a few minutes, the first riders had made it to the group on the other side. They dismounted, and shared a few words with the men. Gorhelm chewed his lip, wondering what they wanted.

  They drew bows, and pointed them across the river, at him. Years of battle made him tense, but there was no cover.

  _Thunk._ An arrow, trailing a slim line of elven rope, embedded itself in the charred post of the bridge. Gorhelm smiled with relief, as another followed it.

  ‘Well. Looks like a rescue by the Firstborn, if you can believe it. Don’t blame you if you can’t, but get the next group ready to cross.’

  *****

  Half an hour had passed. The elves had left a group with them to help them cross, and the rest had continued on whatever their mission was. It was going much more smoothly.

  In fact, the men of Bëor, who’d seen enough of the world to burn out any optimistic tendencies, were waiting for this to go wrong. It happened when the rest of the Elven riders came back, at great speed. Immediately, every elf on the other bank dropped what they were doing, and began to saddle up.

  A couple had crossed the river to help, and one stood beside Gorhelm, frowning at the signals he was being sent from the other side.

  ‘There’s a big contingent of orcs incoming. Looks like a few squads joined together. And they’re moving fast…’ he swore. ‘They can’t be moving that fast.’

  ‘They’re fast enough,’ said Gorhelm.

  ‘…they only move like that with something spurring them on.’ Now the elf was looking out over the land, with his hard grey eyes. ‘We have backup a few hours away, we should be riding to meet them.’

  Gorhelm swallowed a bitter reply. The elves had no obligation to die for them. ‘Good for you.’

  The elf looked down at him. ‘That’s what we _should_ do, but that’s not what his orders are.’

  ‘What?’

  The elf gestured towards the river, then moved off.

  Carefully, the leader of the elves was leading his horse into the river. Fully armed, they were crossing – _the wrong way._ They were crossing to meet the orcs. To hold them off, and buy them time.

  He ordered the next group to start crossing as soon as the ropes were free, and checked on which supplies were going over. Then he stopped pretending, and stood waiting for the elves to get across.

  Wading a little way into the water, he caught a bundle thrown to him, and sloshed ashore just in front of the leader.

  ‘Where d’you think you’re going then?’ he asked, bluntly.

 The elf looked down at him, raising an eyebrow as red as the hair under his helmet. ‘We’re at war with the orcs. We think we’re going to fight them,’ he said. ‘Why?’

  ‘No. No, because _that_ one already said you have backup an hour’s ride off. So why are you crossing, what do you want?’ Gorhelm demanded. The other elf was approaching.

  ‘I want to finish today knowing I didn’t leave a group of soldiers to die, and we have two score fewer orcs to worry about. Keep moving your people across, you’re doing an efficient job.’

  ‘You saw the speed they’re moving,’ the other elf said, coming to a halt. He was talking to his leader.

  ‘I did.’

  ‘You know what it means.’

  ‘There isn’t a balrog,’ said the leader. ‘We’d know by now if there was.’ He reached up to remove his helmet.

  ‘You…even if it’s just orcs, you-’

  ‘I’ll put it on when they get close. But before then – I don’t want them to have _any doubt_ who they’re facing.’ He mounted, and nudged his horse onward, helmet tucked under the stump of a hand and his hair falling down his back.

*****

Gorhelm was busy moving his people, but he heard what happened. A lot of it he wouldn’t believe, but his were hard, cynical men, not given to fanciful elaboration, no matter how injured they were.

_“Some of them were still sure it was a balrog when they formed up, but the Captain’s faced balrogs before, they say. He must’ve been pretty sure it wasn’t, or else reckless.”_

_“It was a mountain troll, and he rode at it himself, broke a lance against its flank then wheeled around to take it with the sword.”_

_“He kept that helmet off ‘til they’d all seen him, and they recognised him. A gang of them fell back – and like he was expecting them to, he pressed forward and cut them off from the main force. They were surrounded and swallowed like wood in the furnace.”_

_“The Firstborn were outnumbered at least three or four to one, but they were mounted – the way they moved, apart and together, you can tell they’ve been doing this hundreds of years.”_

_“They would’ve taken more casualties but he kept the troll distracted. Finally it knocked him off his mount, and swung at him, but he was on its arm and then…I dunno how but it was on its back and he’d cut its throat, and everyone nearby was covered in gore.”_

_“That’s when the orcs began to run. When he climbed down off the corpse of the troll, all of him red to match his hair.”_

_“No doubt they didn’t realise we were all injured when they crossed. Thought they could get some extra sword fodder.”_

  That was the only one he didn’t believe. They knew full well, they’d spoken to the men on the other side. They knew exactly what they were risking their lives for. This wouldn’t go down in history – this was small-scale skirmish, distracting the enemy long enough for a pitiful band of refugees to make it through.

  Gorhelm found himself walking beside the horse of the elf he’d been speaking to before.

  ‘So you’re coming back with us, then?’ he asked, not sounding surprised. As if they had anywhere else to go.

  ‘For now. Think some’ll want to try and find the rest of our people.’

  ‘There are more survivors?’

  ‘Probably not,’ said Gorhelm.

  ‘You know what I said to my Lord there?’ the elf asked. ‘I said what was the point, when looking at you all you’d probably only survive another few years anyway.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Gorhelm, coldly. ‘And what did he say?’

  ‘He said that _was_ the point.’

  The two of them walked on in silence. Gorhelm knew he wouldn’t go back.


End file.
